Ripples
by CrimsonSorrow
Summary: Arnold, now 24, has had his outlook on life changed drastically because of a single person's disappearance. But why does he have a feeling that she's still out there? And more importantly, what if she is?
1. prologue rebirth

Author's Notes:  
  
Steph: Yoyoyo! This is Sharky here, proud to announce that we've finally got our first story up as a joint effort!  
  
Erin: When you're envisioning the characters, they don't look like what they normally do in the show. Instead, they look like a cross between real people and anime.  
  
Steph:*holds her pointer finger high above her head* ON WITH THE STORY!  
  
Erin:*pats Steph on the head.*  
  
  
  
Ripples  
  
  
  
A fanfiction by CrimsonSorrow  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! does not belong to us. We're just borrowing the characters. ^^  
  
  
  
~~~prologue............rebirth~~~  
  
  
  
"Whatever happened to  
  
The life that we once knew?  
  
Can we really live without each other?  
  
Where did we lose the touch  
  
That seemed to mean so much?  
  
It always made me feel so...  
  
Free as a bird  
  
Like the next best thing to be  
  
Free as a bird..." - John Lennon, Free as a Bird  
  
  
  
"Doctor, she's been in this stasis for five days now."  
  
As she heard the familiar voice, a fresh surge of hate settled in her chest.  
  
A white form approached the green tinted glass. She could see him, and another thought crossed her mind.  
  
She wanted to kill. But a cautious glance at the empty tank next to her made her think again. The boy had avoided killing.  
  
The doctors were always there, always prying, always staring, and it had been this way since she couldn't remember...  
  
The years had passed and even she missed the crowded streets of the city, and the years that had passed made her that much older. She lowered her head somewhat as she sustained the fetal position in the tank, staring down at the necklace she wore. It wasn't hers, but the one she had known for a while, her neighbor in tank two had given it to her so she could...  
  
...So she could escape.  
  
"Has she moved at all?"  
  
"No sir. Not in the past hour. She occasionally exhibits symptoms of fatigue, though her vital signs are in peak condition."  
  
"Very well." The doctor stroked his gray beard thoughtfully, and she could see him staring at her.  
  
She hated this place for what it had done to her, and for the trouble and sorrow it had caused. Everyone she ever known and loved assumed that she had drowned. Even ...him. The one she missed the most, though she had tried to forget his very existence. Partially because she had never hoped for a moment like this to come. Even her "parents" thought the same. All because the goddamned government told them what was "the whole truth and nothing but the truth".  
  
Truth my ass, she thought bitterly. She tightened her grip around her legs, squeezing her eyes shut. It was now or never.  
  
"Doctor! Her vitals are skyrocketing!"  
  
"What?! Let me see!" He stared at the console, but it was too late.  
  
She glanced up, the necklace glowing a pure iridescent blue. The glass cracked as her pupil-less eyes grew wider with the use of her energy. The team of doctors and scientists looked on helplessly.  
  
The tank then exploded outward in a torrent of warm water and shattered glass. It seeped into electrical equipment and computers, causing inevitable explosions that the startled doctors couldn't escape. The blasts of the machines had knocked them out for the time being, their unconscious bodies littering the floor.  
  
The stream of water trickled off into a mere drip, leaving her crouching naked in the broken tank, her wet blonde hair plastered to the sides of her face. She hadn't breathed fresh oxygen in years, but the process of breathing seemed stale and useless to her mind and body. She choked when she drew in a tiny breath, but she needed to run. The situation would be worse if she couldn't escape.  
  
She began to sprint through the room, somehow avoiding the glass on the floor, still trying to adjust to her sudden life in the real world. She needed to cover herself with something, because she couldn't run through the streets without any clothes on.  
  
Any sensible person knows about the embarrassment of exposing yourself.  
  
She knew for a fact that she was still in Hillwood City. Why? She didn't know why, exactly. She was frantic now, trying to find even a garment to clothe herself. She didn't want to touch the scientists for fear of contracing some fatal disease.  
  
Then she saw the second tank. There were towels hidden on the right side of the tank. She snatched one, telling herself that even though she would be escaping via the busy streets of Hillwood, the towel would have to do. She ran up the stairs, accessing her exit through the security doors with ease. She had watched the doctors do it a million times or more.  
  
She dashed through the white-washed tunnels, trying not to acknowledge the security cameras that lurked in the corners of every hall.  
  
She saw sunlight for the first time in ten years as she burst through the doors and onto the sidewalk.  
  
She was finally free.  
  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Erin: Bet you can't guess who the girl is (I was trying to keep her anonymous for now...)! Well, that's the first chapter/prologue, with more on the way. Please don't flame, and have a nice day.  
  
...CrimsonSorrow... 


	2. chapter one concursion

Ripples  
  
  
  
A fanfiction by CrimsonSorrow  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! does not belong to us. We're just borrowing the characters. ^^  
  
  
  
~~~chapter one............concursion~~~  
  
  
  
"Some day out of the blue  
  
Maybe years from now  
  
Or tomorrow night  
  
I'll turn and I'll see you  
  
As if we always knew  
  
Some day we would live again, some day soon..." -Elton John, Someday Out Of The Blue  
  
  
  
A college student sat on a bench in Hillwood City.  
  
This bench wasn't entirely important to him, but he sat there whenever he wanted to think.  
  
Next to him rested a backpack, but it wasn't really a backpack. It was a messenger bag, and it was the kind of backpack that you carried over one shoulder, across the body, almost like a purse, except it was a backpack. Inside was a shiny laptop, with the words VAIO across the back of the screen. It was new, and it held all of his college papers from the most recent semester. You know, the long papers that college professors give when they can't think of any other assignment to occupy a student's time. It held pictures of him and his friends. Most of his friends, anyways. It also contained his thoughts.  
  
But enough about his laptop, don't you agree? After all, it is just a piece of machinery.  
  
He often sat there on weekends, with his laptop, watching people scurry past him. Perhaps they were late to their job, or an appointment, or something else of the matter, but no one really cares about what anyone else thinks anymore.  
  
A cool breeze wafted by, ruffling his unruly blond hair and making him blink a few times. A piece of paper rolled along with the wind, catching on his leather workboot. It fluttered helplessly, stuggling to get free, before it flew off down the sidewalk with a stronger gust of wind.  
  
What was he doing here again?  
  
Oh yes. Waiting for a friend...  
  
A friend that had been living near him since childhood. The student smiled briefly, reliving memories over the course of five seconds. A hand reached up and rubbed his neatly trimmed beard, which only traveled along the middle of his jawbone. Hillwood City was always hustle and bustle this time of year, especially when it was so close to Christmas.  
  
Even though he was close to graduating from college, he still eagerly anticipated the first snowstorm of winter. He closed his eyes and relaxed a little, leaning back on the bench. A lazy smile stretched across his lips, and he was almost ready to fall asleep...  
  
"Hey, Arnold!"  
  
The blond jumped out of his restful position and stood, a pink hue immediately flooding his cheeks. An African-American student by the name of Gerald Johanssen stood there, snickering.  
  
"You looked about ready to fall asleep, Arnold," Gerald laughed, holding onto both of his backpack straps, as if it would steady him.  
  
Arnold raised an eyebrow, faking a yawn and scratching under his eye with only his middle finger. Gerald punched him playfully, but marveled at how Arnold towered over him.  
  
"What have you been drinking man?" he asked, looking up at his best friend, who stood at a healthy height of six feet and ten inches.  
  
"How're you doing?" Arnold said, not answering the question. Instead he sat back down on the bench. Gerald sat down next to him.  
  
"I'm doing well, in school and everything else," Gerald responded, waving his hand nonchalantly.  
  
"What about your girlfriend?" Arnold inquired, smirking.  
  
"You mean Phoebe?" Gerald grinned and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "We're good, we're good. But what about you? Have you found anyone yet?"  
  
The blond leaned forward like his friend and placed both hands under his chin. "Nah. It's too hard. Besides, I guess I should wait 'til I'm done with school..."  
  
There was a prominent pause.  
  
"Arnold, you know she's never coming back. They've pronounced her dead. I know it's not the nicest thing to say, but let go, man. You guys were never an item anyway."  
  
"I know Gerald," Arnold replied testily, dropping his hands into the space between his legs. He stared at his best friend. "I know that perfectly well, and I don't mean to sound mad or anything, but I get this feeling that she's still out there somewhere."  
  
"Let's go to the boarding house," Gerald offered after a few tense moments of silence, shrugging. "We can get organized or whatever, and get something to eat around here."  
  
They stood up in unison, and walked through the busy streets, dodging cars and surly business men whenever possible.  
  
The sun hid itself behind gray clouds that menacingly threatened rain. Umbrellas of every color were already being opened by wary people who threw their caution to the wind. Rain started to fall within minutes, soaking the streets and sidewalks.  
  
"Hey, I don't know 'bout you, but I'm running ahead," Gerald said, half- drenched and poised to gallop to the boarding house.  
  
"Go ahead. I like the rain," Arnold called ahead, as Gerald had already begun to sprint. He shook his head, laughing softly at his friend's odd quirks. Then his thoughts fell back to her...  
  
Helga G. Pataki.  
  
Damn, when did she disappear?  
  
10 years ago?  
  
Yeah, that's it.  
  
He absently stepped in a puddle. He remembered how, as a child, she was quite...well...ugly, and how she suddenly blossomed at the age of thirteen. Arnold even remembered eyeing her once or twice. He smiled at that.  
  
But, she had never been the one to follow the crowd.  
  
She was always going against the flow.  
  
When everyone mourned, she would smile.  
  
When everyone laughed, she would cry bitterly.  
  
There had always been something different about her.  
  
But what?  
  
There was always something of a mysterious air surrounding her, even if she did threaten to knock you out for staring.  
  
The wind was blowing against him, and rain was falling sideways into his face. It was just one of those fickle weather days where the sun might be shining on you one moment, and the rain might be pouring on you the next.  
  
Then again, he recounted, shrugging to himself, she did have her times when she was calm.  
  
But the one day when they had gone to the beach for that class trip...  
  
She had looked a bit distant that morning, and everyone was too busy with their own affairs to notice her.  
  
Then, when they were about to leave, the roll call concluded that she wasn't on the bus.  
  
The students had combed the beach for a little more than an hour, before the police and then the F.B.I. were brought in. They had searched for more than a week, and turned up nothing.  
  
Rumors had started, and one student even had the guts to claim that she had committed suicide. For what reason, no one knew.  
  
Helga had disappeared into thin air when she was only fourteen. Though she hadn't seemed like much of a friend, everyone was deeply saddened. Including himself, and a heavy lead weight of guilt had been dropped on his shoulders in the process. When it occurred, Arnold realized that life was too short to waste precious feelings on anyone else. After she vanished, he had promised to never love again. Somehow, he felt that this did her fading memory some justice.  
  
The rain had begun to clear up some, and it was no longer making mini- rivers that flowed into the street drains. It was just a few more blocks to his home, and he thought he was safe, until someone collided into his back.  
  
All he could remember in that split second was falling and hitting the ground, and feeling something land on top of him. He opened his blue eyes, a bit dazed at first. But then his jaw fell a few inches. Lying on top of him, staring right back, was an extremely pretty young woman with soaked blond hair and depthless green eyes. And she was almost totally nude except for a wet towel.  
  
"Oh my God," he said, scrambling to get out from under her. She hastily stood up, looking around frantically. Then she grabbed the collar of his shirt.  
  
"Please help me," she pleaded, holding the towel closed with one hand. She seemed to look into his soul with a puzzled expression on her face and he felt as if she were staring him down. As he returned her gaze, he realized that there was something funny about her eyes, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then he realized that she had no pupils.  
  
"What the hell are you?!"  
  
"Never mind that! I'll tell you later! Just hide me!"  
  
"What? From who? And why should I?!" Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw men in black suits. "What the -- the FBI?! What the hell did you do?!"  
  
"Nothing!" She was close to tears. "Please, I don't want to go back."  
  
Arnold's eyes darted around the street, and they fell on an alleyway that led to a labyrinth of back roads that only he could navigate.  
  
"Come on!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards it.  
  
They ran down the back alley, his messenger bag thumping painfully against his thigh as she stumbled along next to him, trying not to fall behind. Footsteps echoed behind them as they twisted and turned through the maze- like streets.  
  
"Shit," he heard her mutter, and she immediately slowed.  
  
"What happened?" he said, gaspong for breath as he slowed to a stop.  
  
She lifted her right foot up and pointed to the bottom, where the head of a nail was poking out of the soft skin underneath.  
  
"Can you pull it out?" he asked. "We need to keep going."  
  
She grimaced, but closed two delicate fingers around the nail and yanked it out, stifling a small cry of pain.  
  
"I can't walk, let alone run on it," she said, her gaze falling to the ground.  
  
Despite just meeting this young woman, Arnold already felt a sense of obligation and pity.  
  
"Okay," he replied, his tone somewhat gentler than it had been, "I'll carry you."  
  
She didn't have time to object, because he bent down and picked her up in his arms. She held on tightly to his left shoulder as he raced through the alley. It wasn't everyday that someone offered to carry you because of a minor injury, especially in Hillwood City. She could feel his heart beating and his lungs expanding against her chest. But it was the familiar scent of his hair that made her jerk back slightly.  
  
It couldn't be...  
  
Not even with all the luck in the world could she have achieved a coincidence like this on purpose. Not even with all the luck...  
  
But it was him, and even though she had tried to bury her emotions, fearing she'd never see him again, here he was, saving her from her captors. This was one vision she had never even dreamed of...  
  
It made her dizzy with delight just to be there, but it must have somehow been a fantasy, because this could never happen, could it? Could her entire escape be a simple vision that plagued her while she still slept in the tank in her prison?  
  
She reached down and pinched herself very hard, and found that it hurt... alot.  
  
They finally came out of the back alley a few minutes later, and Arnold caught sight of the boarding house.  
  
"We're going through the back, so try to be quiet, okay?" he said, putting her down. She gingerly placed her weight on her bleeding foot, only to find that it wasn't painful anymore.  
  
"Sure, whatever," she agreed, still not believing her good fortune. He opened the door quietly and slid in. She followed just as stealthily, with surpassing grace. Arnold slinked past the kitchen, where Gerald was sitting at the table. He was on the phone with someone, presumably Phoebe, as they ran up the stairs.  
  
"I'm home!" he shouted, then sprinted down the hallway to his room. He tugged down the old ladder, and she scrambled up after him. She was, after all, wearing only a towel, and nothing else. It wasn't her style to flash someone who might be departing their room to take an afternoon stroll, but it didn't matter at the moment.  
  
Arnold locked the door after her, and put his back to it, panting. Then he looked up at the girl who seemed alien and out of place in his room.  
  
She glanced around at the room which she had been in only a few sacred times, and noticed the definite changes to the atmosphere. The wallpaper was different, and the room had a sharper look to it. A Sony VAIO desktop computer rested on the elegant escritoire, it's screen blank and dark. Even the shelves held different things, and the potato alarm clock that had once lived on the night table was probably in a box somewhere.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
She turned to face Arnold, who was still trying to catch his breath. Perspiration had collected at his temples and was dripping down both of his cheeks.  
  
"Then I guess you don't remember me," she sighed, her blond hair falling in wisps around her face.  
  
"I've never met you before," Arnold said, but then he mysteriously doubted his words. His gut told him something was familiar about this woman. Her green eyes seemed to touch him in a place that he never wanted to touch again, and somehow, it was gratifying.  
  
She stepped forward, and he didn't know what to think. Her right index finger gently trailed down his left cheek, and then her hand fell to her side again.  
  
"You've changed so much... Arnoldo." She smiled a little as she said that.  
  
A frantic expression of disbelief crossed his visage -- it wasn't possible for ...her... to be here, after she was supposed to be dead, but still, he wanted to make sure...  
  
He mustered up his courage to break his speechlessness, only resulting in a hoarse whisper.  
  
"He....Helga?"  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Erin: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Steph: The second chapter should be up soon! *Runs off all happy-like* Erin: No flaming please, and have a nice day! ^_^  
  
...CrimsonSorrow... 


	3. chapter two truth

Ripples  
  
  
  
A fanfiction by CrimsonSorrow  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! does not belong to us. We're just borrowing the characters. ^^  
  
  
  
~~~chapter two............truth~~~  
  
  
  
"Baby's black balloon makes her fly  
  
Almost fell into that hole in your life  
  
And you were thinkin' about tomorrow  
  
'Cause you were the same as me  
  
A thousand other boys could never reach you  
  
How could I have been the one?  
  
I saw the world spin beneath you  
  
And scatter like ice from the spoon." -Goo Goo Dolls, Black Balloon  
  
  
  
Even though his deepened voice was soft and wary, she could still hear what he uttered just seconds before.  
  
"It's me." Nothing but a mere whisper escaped her lips.  
  
She encouraged this thought with a hesitant nod. But what if he didn't believe who she was? After all, she was supposed to be dead, swallowed up by a watery grave in the prime of her youth, or something like that. It didn't help that she had been running from the government, either, and was now standing, cold and naked, save the towel, in his bedroom.  
  
Meanwhile, he was staring at her like she had five heads.  
  
It didn't take her long to realize that his knees, even though he wore baggy blue jeans, were shaking slightly.  
  
"Is it that hard to believe that I'm here?" she asked quietly, casting her glance off to one side. Years of ...imprisonment had made her more subdued, or so she thought. The hellcat temper that she'd possessed had faded away while she had been held hostage in a place that smelled of bleach and cleaner. Plus, with those demonic bastards in white oogling you all day, who would have any dignity left at all?  
  
They'd liked her because she was unusual and for reasons vaguely unknown to her. She had guessed that was their fascination, at first anyway. As she had matured beyond the childish age of fourteen they became interested in her body.  
  
The atmosphere was tense.  
  
Somehow, it fell down to that very second, where she silently waited to see if he would turn her in and live a happy life, or if he would keep his promise and hide her.  
  
His rain-soaked Cubs jacket moved with every breath he took...  
  
"No..." he finally responded, although she could easily tell by his eyes that disbelief was prominently on his mind.  
  
He was so tall...  
  
Her left hand held the towel tightly, the soft but damp fabric balled up in her fist. She knew he wasn't a huge believer in miracles, but she felt stupid standing in the middle of his room, with nothing on.  
  
He really had changed...  
  
The awkward silence was killing her, and she just couldn't put up with it anymore.  
  
"Aren't you going to say anything else?" she asked, trying not to sound demanding. Tears sprung fresh in her eyes. It had been a long time since she'd cried, considering that she'd gotten used to the treatment, the abuse, and the constant raping since she was fourteen.  
  
"Where have you been for all these freakin' years...?" Arnold asked, closing his icy blue eyes to try and collect himself. A few stray strands of dirty blond hair were plastered to his forehead from the rain.  
  
Helga tilted her head back some, letting a curtain of long blond hair spill over her shoulder and onto her chest. The anguish that had built up in her soul for all those years was finally letting itself out.  
  
  
  
He couldn't believe it...  
  
It was just so stunning that he felt time had suddenly stopped. The feeling of seeing her again was just so dizzying that it made him light-headed. She had been gone for ten years, and suddenly here she was, naked and alone in a world she hadn't seen for a decade. He still stood with his back against the door, his cheek still feeling tingly from the gesture of... what was it? Was it affection?  
  
His head swam with excuses and other things that made him doubt.  
  
But a strange gut feeling, which he had learned to trust, knew that it was her.  
  
Helga was still alive. And hell, she was beautiful.  
  
"I'm sorry," he heard her mumble. It was barely audible over the pounding of his heart in his ears, but he took a cautious step towards her.  
  
She looked frightened for a minute, and he could see an unnatural glaze reflected in her eyes.  
  
Was she crying?  
  
Slowly, he edged away from the door, praying in his head that no one would kick it open. He unbuttoned his jacket, shrugging it off to reveal a ribbed, long-sleeved dark gray shirt that clung to his thin frame and made him look unbelieveably skinny.  
  
She had turned her head to the side, trying to hide the evidence that she had tears mingling with the sweat on her face.  
  
"Helga..." he said, surprised at the gentleness of his own voice. A raised hand instinctively reached out, to make contact with her bare shoulder.  
  
She flinched. Arnold was taken aback.  
  
The famous Helga G. Pataki he had known would never shy away from someone's touch; rather, she would punch whoever was trying to make the move. This woman who stood in his room couldn't be the same person... but it was.  
  
What had happened to her? The brash young teenager that was permanently burned onto the surface of his mind now failed to exist, and in it's place was an exotic human who had seen true, unrelenting pain. He felt something of an indescribable rage filling his chest. Who had made her like this?  
  
"You... you aren't going to hit me... are you?" she managed to squeak out, her tone of voice distorted because of her clenched throat, her untrusting of him, and her fright.  
  
Quickly, so she wouldn't object, he wrapped his long arms around her trembling shoulders, drawing her close, bending down slightly because of his advancement in height.  
  
"It's me, Helga. Why would I ever hit you?" he demanded softly, in her ear. "Would I ever hurt you?"  
  
He felt her thin arms embrace him in return, felt the towel slipping down to the floor. She sobbed quietly into his shoulder, all her surviving pride disintegrating and collapsing into dust.  
  
Together they sank to the floor, Arnold sealing all of his depression into a compassionate mask. Helga was clearly in need of more comfort at the moment, so he gave it to her, despite the fact that she had no clothes to save her dignity. Her green eyes, filled with tears, seemed empty and desolate, the absence of pupils making them alien to him. He was at a loss to decipher every nuance of her expressions.  
  
At last, after an hour of muffled silence, she had cried herself to sleep. And when he was sure that the undying embrace of slumber had claimed her, Arnold buried his face in her hair and cried too.  
  
Author's Note: Erin: Hi y'all, sorry about the wait. The second chapter stumped me for awhile, and I went ahead and wrote most of the story already... x.o;; Yup yup. I'm the queen of procrastinating. That's me!  
  
Well, if you want to see a picture of Arnold and a picture of Helga from this story, please email me at:  
  
ErinKOC@aol.com  
  
Or, if you have AIM, contact me at:  
  
Boogiepop12  
  
They were done of MS Paint, but they are not crappy, I assure you. XD Note: Arnold's picture is actually from before I completely redesigned the characters. Well... almost completely... Arnold still has the same hairstyle and stuff, but different eyes and face shape. Helga went through MANY designs. I finally found one I like. XD Also, I seem to have this fetish for putting Arnold's long layers back in a ponytail, exposing the REALLY short hair underneath. Eee. @_o Enough of my crazed ramblings! Chapter three is coming a few days. It's already edited and everything, I'm just being evil and making you wait... mwaha. And this story is taking me out to the ballgame on angst. Woo -wee.  
  
...CrimsonSorrow... 


	4. chapter three fire and rain

Ripples  
  
  
  
A fanfiction by CrimsonSorrow  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: We don't own Hey Arnold! We're just borrowing the characters. ^^  
  
  
  
Note: Helga's thoughts are prominent in this chapter, just because I felt like trying something different. She talks in first person, so they're pretty easy to pick out. They're also the sentences amid the paragraphs. ^_^  
  
  
  
~~~chapter three.............fire and rain~~  
  
  
  
"I've seen fire and I've seen rain I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend But I always thought that I'd see you again  
  
Won't you look down upon me, Jesus You've got to help me make a stand You've just got to see me through another day My body's aching and my time is at hand And I won't make it any other way." - James Taylor, Fire and Rain  
  
  
  
Helga padded down the stairs, her long blond hair fluttering behind her. She was wearing a black GAP T-shirt, a loose flannel over shirt, and the smallest pair of Arnold's jeans she could find. He'd offered her a pair of his shoes, but his foot was almost five sizes bigger than hers.  
  
Gerald had already gone to his hotel, which was a few blocks away. He apparently didn't wait, but when she found Arnold in the kitchen, he pointed to the note on the kitchen table. It had an address and said something about dinner, and a phone number was listed below in Gerald's trademark scrawl. Arnold was rooting through the fridge, and finally pulled out two cans of soda.  
  
"You want something to drink?" he implored, holding the two cans and shrugging. Helga gaped. She hadn't had soda, let alone solid food since she had been at the place where everything was white, including the doctors who worked there.  
  
  
  
  
  
Intravenous feeding was the team's choice of sustainment. Needles. Tubes. Hideous...  
  
  
  
  
  
Breakfast of champions... I almost laughed...  
  
  
  
  
  
"Helga?"  
  
"Yeah," she responded, somewhat detached. He handed her one of the cans and popped open his own, taking a long drink as soon as he did.  
  
Helga pulled the tab and found that the can opened much easier than she had expected. She raised the can to her mouth and took a small sip. The familiar sweetness almost knocked her over backwards, her mind reeling with the diversity of the liquid. It brought back precious memories that she still held on to. It wasn't bitter and thick, but the thin bubbly drink that she had loved when she was young.  
  
  
  
  
  
...blank, glassy blue eyes... a disgustingly beautiful array of red... black feathers...  
  
  
  
  
  
"I gotta go to the corner store," Arnold said, glancing out the window. The sun had set, and the streetlights were flickering to life. Moths flocked to the porch light on the stoop. "We're out of milk, so I need to grab a few quarts. Want to come with me?"  
  
"Sure," she said, smiling. Her intuition was crying out to her that something was wrong, but she chose to ignore it.  
  
He hastily shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding his head towards the door.  
  
"It'll only take a few minutes, so we won't be long," he said, shrugging again. Then he smiled for the first time that day. It made the cold steel glint of his eyes soften considerably, and his whole expression seemed to lighten, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. She marveled at how he still resembled the little kid who she had fallen in love with.  
  
"Let's go then," she offered, breaking the comfortable silence. Then she laughed, staring at her feet. She had no shoes.  
  
  
  
  
  
...black feathers...  
  
  
  
  
  
About fifteen minutes later, after raiding every possible closet that didn't belong to a boarder for a matching set of shoes, Helga found herself walking to the store with Arnold in a pair of golf cleats, reminiscing about old times.  
  
Most of her sentences began with "Do you remember the time...?", and they both dredged up memories that had been long-buried. She could see the corner store ahead, and then she glanced back at Arnold. He seemed to be studying the grains in the pavement as they walked together, and looked a little distant. His hands were still in the pockets of his well-worn Cubs jacket.  
  
"Something wrong?" she asked, feeling a little strange. Only two hours ago he had been holding her like she'd always wanted him to, while he asked her the exact same question. She felt guilty, especially when he looked over at her.  
  
The chips of blue ice that were his irises reflected something she couldn't put her finger on, but it disappeared before she could identify it.  
  
"Nothing's wrong," he replied, smiling. But the smile was so forced that it almost made her cry again.  
  
  
  
They approached the store, but the air was unusually quiet.  
  
"Are you sure it's open?" Helga said, tugging on the arm of his jacket.  
  
"It always is," Arnold said, trying to sound reassuring, but confusion was bluntly evident in his tone. Almost in a protective manner, he stood a few inches in front of her, but she wanted to get a better look.  
  
The lights were on, and the television set that the clerk had probably been watching was blaring loudly, echoing off the walls. No one could be seen from outside.  
  
"Do you think something happened?" Arnold asked her, his whole body rigid with anticipation and confusion. Helga could only wonder as she walked closer, peering through the dirtied Plexiglas. All appeared normal to the hapless glance of a normal person.  
  
It wasn't until Helga noticed the large blotch of red on the floor inside that she jumped to conclusions. Her eyes widened, and she took a shaky step backwards.  
  
"Someone's hurt," she said, her lip trembling as she pointed to a bloodied body on the floor. It was visible through a small nook where the counter couldn't block a person's view. Helga took a few more steps back, and Arnold watched her out of the corner of his eye. The sensitive hairs on the back of his neck had raised as a chilling shiver made its way up his spine.  
  
"Do you think there was a robbery?" she said, her tone very subdued and frightened.  
  
"Possibly," she heard him say.  
  
"God, we have to call the police. What if he's still alive? It couldn't hurt us to help him," she remarked, trying to keep calm while her voice showed hints that she was on the edge of hysterics.  
  
The bell that would normally alert the clerk to a patron jingled cheerfully as a burly man that sported a black ski mask pulled open the door and dashed out, halting at the sight of two witnesses.  
  
It seemed that fate was not without a sense of irony.  
  
The man stared at them for a brief second, then smiled menacingly under his mask.  
  
"You know what they say," he coughed, his voice like sandpaper against rough wood, "dead men tell no tales." He cocked a black revolver that he was carrying, and clicked the safety off. They didn't have time to run before the gun went off.  
  
A sickening sound of metal entering flesh broke the eerie silence after the gunshot. Arnold's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in shock, and he stumbled, clutching at his side. Crimson was spattered out behind him, forming a lopsided V. The man turned and fled, thinking better of killing them both. It wasn't worth the effort, should the police catch him. But then again, all criminals don't think like him, do they?  
  
Helga stood in complete shock, watching Arnold for the seconds that followed. He took a weaving step towards her, resulting in blood seeping between his fingers and splashing in a puddle on the sidewalk. More of the dark liquid dripped onto the cement, soaking in immediately. His irises seemed strangely drained of their color as blood gurgled into his throat. He coughed once, only succeeding in having red dribble down his chin into his beard, staining the dirty blonde hair a deep and grotesquely beautiful burgundy.  
  
"Oh my God... oh my God! Arnold!" she gasped, panicking as he dropped to his knees and fell on his uninjured side, grimacing. Her intuition had been right...  
  
  
  
  
  
He can't die after I've just found him again...  
  
  
  
  
  
Arnold lifted the hand that was acting as if to hold in his blood, and looked blankly at his dirtied palm as his fingers trembled. He smiled weakly, but the expression did not touch his eyes. His clean hand lightly touched her cheek, his cold fingers quivering.  
  
"At least I got to see you again," he said, his eyes holding a strangely empty look as his dying gaze faltered.  
  
"I'm... I'm so tired..." he muttered, before his head fell forward onto his chest, his eyelids drifting shut. His bloodstained hand fell limp to his side. A large puddle of foreboding red was already starting to collect under the exit wound.  
  
She felt tears stinging her eyes.  
  
  
  
  
  
My life is doomed to be this way...  
  
  
  
  
  
... people always die around me and all I can do is watch.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Someone help me! Someone, please, help me!" She cried, her shoulders shaking with dry, suppressed sobs. The gunshot from before had already attracted some of the occasional passersby.  
  
He was still breathing, but it was labored. An expression of intense agony was crawling slowly across his visage. His skin was getting colder and the draining blood seemed to have no intention of letting him live as it left his body quicker.  
  
That was when she noticed the hands on his wristwatch slowing down.  
  
"What?" she said incredulously, despite the current turn of events.  
  
The hands stopped completely.  
  
The temperature dropped several degrees, making Helga shiver.  
  
This must be some strange kind of phenomenon, she thought to herself, her eyes filled with tears as she rocked back and forth slowly, cradling Arnold's upper body.  
  
His life was staining her hands and all she could do was watch...  
  
  
  
  
  
...it wasn't meant to come to this...  
  
  
  
  
  
...if only they hadn't found me...  
  
  
  
  
  
Then she looked up, and around at her surroundings. She could see dim shadows of people, but they looked frozen...  
  
...like Arnold's watch.  
  
Her green eyes detected drops of rain. They hung in the air, as if suspended on cables. Even the tears that fell from her face halted like the rain had once they plunged from her reddened cheek, glistening like eerie snowflakes.  
  
"No..."  
  
  
  
  
  
This wasn't supposed to happen.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Don't die on me," she whispered, hoping he could hear it. A few of her fingers brushed stray wisps of his messy blond hair out of his face. She wiped the blood from his thin lips with the heel of her palm, feeling her heart break. He had probably been the only person, the only thing that had kept her alive all of those isolated years...  
  
"Let him die," a gentle but stern voice commanded.  
  
Helga glanced up, her mouth a perfect "O."  
  
On a stoop not ten feet away from where she kneeled sat a tall man, hidden in shadows. Eidolons obscured his features and danced upon his body, which was only partially visible from the moonlight above her.  
  
"Why?" she demanded, losing her wits. She had always tried to be strong, but now she was finding it hard.  
  
"Death is his only way out," the deep voice concluded, "because death for him will bring peace and closure."  
  
"He doesn't have to die!" she shouted at the man, wanting him to take back his stupidly offensive comments. Why was this stranger suggesting that she let him pass away in her arms?  
  
"Think about it," the man said, his pitch changing from a deep, luscious jazz tone to a voice which she had just recently heard...  
  
"He's always alone. Even though he had friends, that particular loneliness never went away."  
  
The man started to come out of the shadows. Helga's heartbeat quickened when his face came into view. The stranger had Arnold's face... had stolen his features...  
  
"No!" she said venomously, wanting to make the bastard change his mind. He was never alone and always the optimistic idealist, the adorable blond guy that everyone had been friends with... he had never been alone... or...  
  
...or had he?  
  
"He's never had the luxury of real parents. His grandparents, even though they loved him like a son, could never give him true parental love," the man said said emotionlessly. "You disappeared, and you don't how much it affected everyone, especially Arnold. For him, death is the only way to make it better. And it will make it better for you as well."  
  
"What?" she was lost in utter confusion, feeling a strange wave of familiarity wash over her subconsciousness.  
  
The stranger's features grew sad for a moment, then contorted into a grimace.  
  
"I have done away with so many," he said softly, "and yet, you two always manage to make me feel a perversing sadness. For you to have just found each other again..." He glanced off to the side, a faint whisper of a name rolling off his tongue. "Razeal... my brother..."  
  
In the corners of her mind, the faint recognition of that specific name began to puzzle her. But she had no time for things that seemed to be part of a memory that was long gone.  
  
  
  
  
  
...if only they hadn't found me...  
  
  
  
  
  
...maybe there would be no pain...  
  
  
  
  
  
The man's pale hand stretched out, his palm facing her. Her sight was overtaken by a strange vision that was abrupt and disturbing, and all images that her eyes should normally see were blocked by this strange movie.  
  
  
  
Arnold was standing on the roof of his home, poised to jump...  
  
His face was sad as a he pushed up a long sleeve, gazing at several scars that lined his forearms...  
  
  
  
The dreamlike picture ended as soon as it had begun. The stranger was silent, but she now knew his purpose. He was going to take Arnold away from her.  
  
"No..." she murmured, a warm tear cascading down her cheek. She was a contributing factor to his depression? Helga didn't want it to be true, but the thought tugged at her heart.  
  
  
  
  
  
...maybe there would be no pain...  
  
  
  
  
  
...for the both of us...  
  
  
  
  
  
There was a tense silence.  
  
"Are you convinced?" the man asked, a look of insane and psychotic triumph crossing his features... the features he'd taken from Arnold...  
  
"He's been fighting alone for his entire life. It would be considered an act of kindness for you to let him pass on."  
  
  
  
Alone? How the word echoes in my mind.  
  
  
  
  
  
Nobody could ever know the true meaning of such a word, because it defines my past so well...  
  
  
  
  
  
I will always be alone, because I always have been. And watching him and holding his cold body as he dies makes me realize that my future will always remain the same...  
  
  
  
  
  
Because a life without someone is lonely. And a life like that isn't worth living.  
  
  
  
  
  
I still love you. I always have, because you made me feel like I had something that no one had ever given me.  
  
  
  
  
  
You're not alone, because I will live to see your life end.  
  
  
  
  
  
Only one who has to endure what I have had to can see my pain.  
  
  
  
  
  
It's a sad existence. But I live it, and maybe you'll understand...  
  
  
  
  
  
I want you to live.  
  
  
  
  
  
See, Arnold? You can't be dead...  
  
  
  
  
  
...because I love you.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Is he so sad?" she whispered after a moment, wondering why all those years ago she had never seen it. She had never even paused to think if he had anything that he kept inside, away from the prying world.  
  
He had never shown it. Not to anyone.  
  
It was one of those things that no one was supposed to know.  
  
"I'm going to stay by him," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I'm going to be with him now."  
  
  
  
  
  
It's our pain...  
  
  
  
  
  
I can help him.  
  
  
  
  
  
I can.  
  
  
  
  
  
The man who had been watching her took another step out of the blackness that surrounded him, revealing the likeness of Arnold to her. He tilted his head and smiled at her, his hands now shoved into the pockets of the Cubs jacket.  
  
"I want to be with him," she said, her composed tone wavering, "I want him to live."  
  
  
  
  
  
Even if he doesn't help me...  
  
  
  
  
  
...I will help him if it's the last thing I do...  
  
  
  
  
  
...I want to do something for him in exchange for the love I have...  
  
  
  
  
  
...even if I have to give up my life for him.  
  
  
  
  
  
Arnold doesn't know what I am.  
  
  
  
  
  
I have some faint idea... and this man seems so familiar...  
  
  
  
  
  
The Arnold that stood in front of her nodded slowly, though somewhat reluctantly. "For you, L'eau."  
  
  
  
  
  
L'eau...? My name... it was my name...  
  
  
  
  
  
He did not speak again, but did something unimaginable.  
  
Helga stared as the man stepped out of the shadows, his entire body bathed in a faint white glow from the moon. Behind him stretched two fathomless black wings, each individual ebony feather shining in the luminescent moonlight. He offered her one last smile, and spread his wings as black feathers floated down, and glossy ravens flew around him.  
  
Then he was gone.  
  
  
  
  
  
Did he hear me?  
  
  
  
  
  
The hands on Arnold's watch started ticking again. The world seemed to come alive slowly, like watching a flower open up to the early morning sun's warm rays.  
  
  
  
  
  
That man knows the definition of alone. He's lived it for eons...  
  
  
  
  
  
...I guess even the angel of death can feel pity.  
  
  
  
  
  
And an ambulance, with it's sirens wailing, screeched to a halt in front of her.  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: Erin: Sadness! Angst! YAY! oO; Sorry. I hope you enjoyed this chapter (oooo... a cliffhanger) and please come back to read some more! ^_^  
  
Steph: *suddenly pelts Erin with her manga books*  
  
Erin: *dodges books* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! *catches her Paradise Kiss book and flips it open* Oooo...I remember that part!!! EEP! *tosses book over her shoulder to dodge more flying manga* WHAT'S THIS FOR?!  
  
Steph: YOU POSTED THE LAST CHAPTER WITHOUT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Erin: I COULDN'T KEEP ALL THE READERS WAITING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Steph: *while pelting books* TAKE THAT! AND THAT! AND THAT! AND...oh wait...I'm outta books...  
  
Erin: o_O  
  
Steph: ^_^  
  
Erin:o_O;  
  
Steph: ^_^;  
  
Erin: o_O;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;  
  
Steph: ^_^;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;  
  
Erin:...I think you get the point.  
  
Steph: uh...heh...yeah...  
  
...CrimsonSorrow... 


	5. chapter four open your eyes

Ripples  
  
  
  
A fanfiction by CrimsonSorrow  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: We do not own Hey Arnold! We are simply borrowing the characters. ^^  
  
  
  
~~~chapter four.............open your eyes~~~  
  
  
  
"Say, when they're in love,  
  
does everyone get this lonely?  
  
Say, do they embrace the pain  
  
that's even deeper than the darkness?  
  
  
  
I call out to you now with my tears.  
  
I don't need promises or such things,  
  
because of the precious  
  
strength that you've given me." --Maaya Sakamoto, Yakusoku wa Iranai (No Need to Promise)  
  
  
  
The strangely alien smell of disinfectant made Helga's eyes water. She furiously rubbed at them, trying to keep a straight face and stop crying. The note that Gerald had left on the kitchen table was clutched tightly in her fist. She had just notified him, pretending to be a nurse. After all, no one but Arnold knew she was alive. And Arnold was currently... incapable of divulging that information.  
  
Gerald had responded that he couldn't be there until the morning, because he had... other matters. She had almost laughed at that, but the full burden of the situation kept her mouth shut. A female voice in the background had told her everything.  
  
  
  
  
  
He's not going to die, is he?  
  
  
  
  
  
Doctors and nurses rushed back and forth, though their frantic need to save a life wasn't as sharply-edged as it had been before. The mad rush over a dying young man had calmed a bit, and she hoped this was a good sign. A hospital wasn't her favorite place. It never had been.  
  
Suddenly, a white styrofoam cup was shoved into her downcast gaze. Helga felt mildly surprised, then looked up into a young woman's smiling face.  
  
"You look like you could use a cup of coffee," she commented, rather briskly, but dropped into the nubbed chair beside Helga.  
  
The woman's brown hair was streaked with bright gold, and fell to her thin waist. She wore a ribbed sweater that clung to her form, and her smile showed brilliant white teeth. Her skin was pale and ivory colored, and this living doll that now sat beside her seemed to be made of porcelain.  
  
Helga self-consciously brushed her mussed blonde hair from her face, her hand half-hidden in one of Arnold's large plaid over shirts. Her fingers trembled as she did so, and with a carefully concealed glance, she noticed that it had been five hours since she had arrived. It was 1:00 in the morning, and she could feel sleep tugging at her eyelids.  
  
"How long have you been waiting here?" came the flutey voice of the doll.  
  
"Five hours," Helga replied, her tone soft. The terror of watching Arnold get shot was still burning her already frazzled nerves, and the memory played itself over and over and over in her mind, so vividly that she expected every time to be real. She expected to hear his cry of astonishment and intense agony, then his faint voice muttering that he was tired... so very tired...  
  
"-alright?"  
  
"Pardon?" Helga mumbled, as she was jolted back to reality by the doll's concerned question.  
  
"I said, are you alright?" the doll asked, a hint of suspicion lurking in that perfectly innocent voice.  
  
"I'm fine. I'm just tired," she heard herself say in a genuinely sleepy response.  
  
This woman was beginning to drive her mad. Helga gazed at the contents of her cup, which had grown steadily cooler over the time that she had used to reflect the incident. Without thinking, she raised the cup to her lips and tilted it back, letting the warm contents slide down her throat and slip pleasantly into her stomach.  
  
She nearly coughed at the bitter taste, but ignored it. Her flawless face, however, told a different story.  
  
"It's espresso," the doll added, almost as a very delayed afterthought. "By the way, my name is Lilly. Pleased to meet you," she said, offering Helga her beautifully proportioned hand.  
  
Helga eyed it for a brief moment, then shook it gently, her long, slender and pale fingers easily winning over Lilly's. Her unpainted fingernails seemed to stand out in a subtle way that contrasted greatly with the doll's bright red polish. "I'm Helga."  
  
"Is something wrong?" Lilly questioned after a tense moment of silence, trying to meet Helga's line of vision. Helga refused to look at her, for she knew what type of reaction the perfect woman would have. At the sight of her irises, Lilly would get up, shout, scream, do whatever the average person would.  
  
Helga didn't want that. Being in the spotlessly clean, white hospital that seemed to shine so brightly her eyes were squinted was already too much for her to bear. She could feel her body itching subconsciously, and her mind was puzzled as to why it was in a painfully luminescent and ridiculously cold world.  
  
  
  
  
  
I was in there for so long... so long...  
  
  
  
  
  
She drank more of the coffee, but it seemed to be having a negative effect on her body. Her conscience felt detached, and she was already caught in the clutches of slumber. Lilly seemed to be anxious to know why Helga's eyes were closing slowly.  
  
Helga couldn't make out a word of it, and she succumbed to the blackness of a wonderful unconsciousness...  
  
  
  
  
  
A beautiful array of red... black feathers...  
  
  
  
  
  
A finger was prodding her arm, and a different voice was echoing in her ears.  
  
"Excuse me, miss? Excuse me..."  
  
Helga opened her eyes, instincively throwing up an arm against the insistent poking, but suddenly remembered that she was in a hospital.  
  
"Are you awake?" the same voice asked, almost passively.  
  
"I am now," she moaned, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. She stretched, hearing bones crack. Helga thought she could almost hear them sigh in relief, after spending a few hours in an uncomfortable position.  
  
A man was standing in front of her. He was of Asian descent, with hair like a raven's feathers and naturally pale skin that could rival even Lilly's. His hair was disheveled and his shoulders hunched, and on his face was an expression that no one would ever like to see in a life or death situation. The circles under his brown eyes suggested to her that the night had been spent agonizing over something that she was sure she didn't want to hear. A clock on the wall in back of him told Helga that it was 3:00 am.  
  
"You came in with the man who was shot last night?" His accent confused her at first, but she slowly came to realize what he had said and nodded silently.  
  
"He lost a lot of blood," the doctor continued, and Helga sighed, feeling her chest tighten uncomfortably. "He is in a coma for the time being." The man looked at her sadly for a moment, then looked nervously at his clipboard. "We're not sure if he's going to wake up."  
  
No, she thought, her sadness and anger boiling together in an emotional outbreak that would overflow it's respective dams if she didn't control it.  
  
"Can I see him?" she asked, her voice flat and toneless. She concentrated all of her remaining strength on suppressing her tears and despair... if it was true, then the depression would follow her for the rest of her life...  
  
The doctor gestured down the hallway, and began to walk away, asking her with his body language to follow him. The halls were bustling with nurses and doctors who had just arrived at work, and those who had worked the demoralizing graveyard shift. All around her was the smell that she had grown to hate, the smell that had plagued her from when they had first gotten their greedy, clammy hands on her...  
  
"He's in here, miss. I will be back to check in about..." he paused and glanced at his wristwatch, "thirty minutes."  
  
Helga nodded to show some sign that she had heard him, then grasped the doorhandle with a trembling hand. The large gold numbers glared at everyone who passed from a plaque that was carefully nailed into the wood. The metal was cold against her dry palm.  
  
With every ounce of emotional strength she could muster, she turned the handle down, hearing it click open, and the door swung ajar. She closed her eyes just enough to see when she slipped through the crack between the door and the doorjamb.  
  
Helga realized stupidly that her eyes were shut tightly, but she stilled her quickly beating heart and slowed her rhythmic breathing just enough for her to hear if anything was abnormal...  
  
The quiet whirring of the intensive care unit that kept Arnold alive filled the room, making a desired silence sound almost beckoning.  
  
"Open your eyes," she said, berating herself out loud. She exhaled and her eyelids slid open, revealing all that the room had to offer.  
  
In the middle of the room was a bed, where an unrecognizable person lay, not moving. An IV pouch hung on a pole near the bed, and Helga followed the long tube with her unblinking gaze until it stopped, ending in a pointed needle that was inserted under the person's skin. His eyes were closed, and an oxygen mask was over his nose and mouth. The blankets were drawn up to the man's abdomen, and his long, sleeved arms lay on top, holding the blanket that was tucked around his waist. His chest visibly rose and fell with every breath, but it sounded strained and unnatural. White gauze and medical tape created a patch on his side, and all around the blank square was a gruesome black and blue bruise. His palms were open and facing towards the ceiling.  
  
Helga pressed the back of her head against the door, wishing away her tears, even if it wasn't possible. She felt one roll down her cheek, followed by another and another, until, before she realized it, she was crying. Stealthily she crossed the room, leaving the door's offer to escape to the outside world, where she could pretend all was fine and dandy.  
  
She stood at the side of the bed, her heart breaking as she kept her stare on his already lifeless body.  
  
  
  
  
  
Is he braindead?  
  
  
  
  
  
That man she had seen the night before, the one who had taken on Arnold's appearance had promised that he would live.  
  
But how was she supposed to know that he would only be living with the support of machines?  
  
Lightly, she placed her smaller hand in his open palm.  
  
"God, how I love you," she whispered to him, painfully hoping that he might hear, "but why did I convince that guy to let you live if you were going to be reduced to nothing?"  
  
His hand was cold. Cold and dead.  
  
The longer she let her eyes linger, the more she cried. Her left hand unintentionally reached up and caressed his forehead, pushing back the blond forelocks that lay limp against his skin.  
  
"I love you so much," she confessed again, knowing that this was most likely her only chance to tell him. Even if he couldn't listen. Her fingers lightly traced the lines of his callused palm.  
  
"I'm so sorry that I did this to you."  
  
Out of nowhere, the words to a song that had long diminished in her overactive mind made themselves known.  
  
Even the melody that had escaped her somehow now floated back lazily, as if it had merely been biding it's time.  
  
"Angel of the Lord, fall to sleep in the cradle of his arms, listen to my voice..." her voice trailed off pitifully, but she wanted to give it another try. It gave her a tiny glimmer of hope that he might pull through, even if it was small and immeasurable to the blistering sadness that she felt.  
  
As she half-sang, half-muttered, every melody came back to her, one by one. Every note returned, making her happy and more depressed as she uttered every verse.  
  
The song finally faded out of her mind and spirit, and she felt strangely drained. The memory combined with the current trauma was too much for her body and mind to handle, she summarized listlessly.  
  
Helga dropped her gaze to rest on Arnold's hand, which still felt cold and dead. But then something happened that she didn't expect. At first, she registered it as a conclusive symptom of exhaustion, but when she tried to shake it away, it was still there.  
  
His slender fingers had closed around hers in a gesture of acknowledgement.  
  
  
  
Dr. Hatori Kawasagi stood outside room number 201, pondering what to say to the young lady he had led into the room less than an hour ago.  
  
The man she had arrived with was submerged in a deep coma, the kind of coma where you're not even sure if the person is still functioning anymore. Hatori was contemplating what to say to the girl, who had looked stricken with grief when he had informed her of the young man's condition.  
  
It was entirely possible for them to just pull the plug and let the man off into his eternal afterlife. He wasn't completely sure about what the girl would say; whether she would agree or not was to be decided.  
  
However, Hatori was in for quite a shocking experience when he opened the door to announce his promised arrival. The woman was sitting beside the bed, smiling through her waterfalls of tears.  
  
Hatori wasn't of what she was grinning about, but when he walked closer to try and talk to her about letting the man go, his eyes widened considerably.  
  
The young man had his hand wrapped around the woman's, in an unmistakable sign of life, healing, and affection.  
  
"Hello," she said to him, smiling. He returned it, still undoubtedly amazed at what had come to pass in the short time he had been absent. Hatori quickly departed the room after checking several status reports. All of the man's vital signs seemed to be rising...  
  
Helga didn't know how long she sat there, simply crying and grinning stupidly at anyone who entered the room, doing a routine checkup. Arnold's grip on her hand was light and weak, but something had been born at the very moment he had held onto her.  
  
She remembered light emanating from low in the horizon, casting eerie and beautiful shadows on the walls. And she remembered the dark in all of it's nightly splendor, and she remembered his grip getting slightly stronger, but she couldn't recall nodding off into la-la land...  
  
She woke when she felt something gently brushing her hair and scalp. The sun was still a good hour away from rising, but there was enough light in the room to distinguish what was suddenly there.  
  
Helga tried in vain to open her eyes as she lifted her head a little, sleepily enjoying the soft caress that stroked her forehead and slowly drifted to the back of her head, where it ebbed away and gave her delightful shivers that she hadn't felt in years.  
  
She was so tired...  
  
Almost begrudgingly, she opened her eyes, not wanting to glimpse the sickly face of the man whose bed she had used as a pillow while spending yet another night on a chair.  
  
What she saw almost made Helga pinch herself.  
  
Arnold was sitting up, his oxygen mask discarded to the left of him, smiling rather discreetly as he brushed her hair with his fingers.  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: Erin: Interesting chapter huh? This came about one night when my muse kicked my arse into gear and made me write. ^_^ I hope you liked, and please don't flame. I'm posting again without my other half, but I needed to get this one up before people hurt me... .;;;  
  
PS: The song sang by Helga is kinda written by me... so, yeah... @_@;;; Not anything special, really. I know this chapter was like ultra-cheesiness... -.-;;; I was bored! So review! I will beg! o_O;;  
  
...CrimsonSorrow... 


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